Segue
by Liast
Summary: Guinevere leaves as thought fire burns under her feet. Lesley mourns as thought the moon is falling down. And Gusion, he disappears and changes direction like a man of storm, from the very first time they meets and in the end as they parts. In between, they lives as thought earth were made for lovers.
1. Chapter 1: Fire Burns Under Her Feet

There is a garden full of violet flowers near the side porch of the manor.

Guinevere remembers when mother taught her how to plant them. Her brother Lancelot said the flowers she planted would never grow, because she terrified them to dead. His little hand plucked a leaf out of it.

That day ended with a messy side porch, an overworked maid, and thundering little feet over shrieking voices. Oblivious, those two little humans, as joyous laughter echoes along the halls, a mother has thrown herself to the water. Her body is found, later, much much later, when everything is just too late.

She drowned.

* * *

.

* * *

She sees a boy, right across the river where she trains sometimes. He quickly hides behind a tree, hoping she hadn't see him already.

"I see you."

The bush rustles right beside the tree.

"Are you shy?"

"Why would I?" she hears him, still hiding behind a tree, though he peeks to get a look at her.

"Because you never see a girl as pretty as me." Guinevere says, smugly, voice loud and clear, hiding her own nervousness.

The boy laugh so hard, hands clutching at his stomach as he steps out from behind the tree. "So sorry to break it to you but my brother Berith is far prettier than you are."

"Oh yeah? Clearly you haven't met my brother than."

"I don't believe you."

"Humph." She squints her eyes, trying to get a good look at his person despite the blazing evening sun right behind him. "What are you doing here anyway?"

He crosses his arms on his chest. "None of your business."

But they ends up spending their evening there anyway, bantering so hard, and then talking nonstop, he talks about magic and she talks about sword, and she wonders.

"Show me?" she says, challenge clear on her voice. So he does.

In turn, she shows him what she does best.

* * *

.

* * *

"Do you remember that girl Roleine from the fence tournament?"

Guinevere watches from her bed, how Lancelot ties the last stem of his flower crown, and then puts it on her head, the intertwined blues, purples, and whites suits her perfectly. "What about her?"

"I'll win this year and present my trophy to her."

"Uhuh." Guinevere looks at her brother, whose hands already started to make another flower crown, for himself this time. Sometimes she can't help but to let him do something stupid, and then laugh so hard or grimace darkly at him. "As if you can win this year. Did you forget that she can win it herself, like last year, when she defeated you?"

"Because I let her. Not this time, though."

"Of course." The sarcasm falls on his deaf ears. Guinevere looks at the old leather bound book on her desk. Gusion, the boy she met across the river many weeks ago, lends it to her, yesterday. Small hands itches to open it. "I want to learn magic."

"Weird." Lancelot squints, eyeing the book from where he sits on the floor.

"Jerk."

"Whatever." He grumbles, then sighs. "Just do it already then, it won't open itself."

"What if father doesn't like it? You know how he is." She looks at the thin sword under her table, a birthday gift, for her to start early practice on swordmanship.

"Urgh. Just read it, okay?"

"You think father would let me enter the Magic Academy?"

"Maybe? Who care? I'll guard the door." He stands, his hands busy with his flowers, half way made.

"As if that matters."

It is.

He looks silly, guarding the door in their own home, as if the servants are the enemy here while they sneak in to their criminal den. It makes her happy though, when he offers to be her living practice dummy for her experimental magic, without any supervisor.

She can't wait to prove her father that she will be the best mage in the country.

* * *

.

* * *

It was Lancelot's birthday, the fifteen, when their father makes a big deal out of it. Not just big diner, but the whole speeches and dances afterward, with all his associates, fellow nobles, and their sons and daughters alike. With gentle hands on his shoulder, he paraded Lancelot around, and a keen reminder to be polite, the thing their instructor tried to make them understand since he was ten.

And Lancelot, like the attention seeker that he is, thrives under the chandelier, and gracefully waltzes with girls in beautiful dress and equally beautiful face. Their smiles never fade, even when he lets go and reach for another, with small kisses to the back of their hands as a start.

Guinevere shoves a spoon full of lemon cake and wonders if she will be one of the girls in the ballroom later.

"It's just our luck, to be choose and married off to other noble boy, without any say in the matter once we bled." A voice on her right makes her turns her head. A girl, definitely older than her but younger than most of Lancelot's dance partners tonight, sips at her glass of something that Guinevere is sure to contain alcohol. "What? I am old enough to fish future husband and marry him the next day, it's ridiculous to forbid me a drink, don't you think?"

They clinks their glass, the shades of blue is a stark contrast to Guinevere's orange juice. She whispers in her ear, even when the music is loud enough that her father would never heard anything they talked from the table behind them. "Rebel while you can, girl."

Her giggle turns to laugh so hard until she snorts, and Guinevere can not help not to like her. She introduces herself as Bennet.

The next time they meets, Guinevere dances under the lights for the first time after she bled, a boy's hand on her waist and grasps her own, while she stands on the side, clings to a man and introduces herself as Stafforde, with a silent 'e' in the end. That night, Guinevere is the first one to let go of her dance partners' hand after three spins and before they can gloats in their father's name.

She rebels in her own way, it seems.

* * *

.

* * *

It happened overnight.

Enemy's tattered banner was found but Lancelot disappeared and with him Guinevere's normalcy. The pranks, the flower arrangements, the comically terrified look that warned her she was going too far. The clash of her magic against his sword.

It's been a long time. Like her violet flowers that grows beautiful, despite her brother saying otherwise, once upon a time, an eternity ago. Guinevere is not a little girl anymore. Between her ingenious magic and trying to please her father, she tends to care for her flowers. That is so easy to do actually.

A voice calls out to her. Already knowing what awaits her behind the door.

"Yes, Father." She answers dutifully, as she should be. She turns from her garden of blooming flowers. She doesn't need to be worried of naughty hands plucking out her flowers every time she turned her back and changed them to roses.

Every day has become uncommonly quiet now that he's gone.

* * *

.

* * *

"At least you will be engaged to Alloces. He's pretty ugly, and boring, but he's a good man."

A cheeky teenage boy smiles at her. His voice breaks the silence between them. Under the golden afternoon sun, Guinevere remember the first time she met Gusion right across the river, and she thinks she like his smiles. Even though his smile reminds her too much of her no-longer-there brother. Even when his smile is just distraction for her incoming engagement to a stranger, but really, he is Gusion's brother. Such a small world. She wonders if it's bad or good, and her face darkens a little at that. But she can not show that to him, can she?

"That's oxymoron, you idiot." Her voice doesn't waver as much as she feared.

There are voices behind the door. Of her father and some strangers that is Gusion's family. She clasps her hands behind her back, afraid that Gusion will see it shakes and mock her, or pity her and it is worse. She doesn't need it. She tries to hang on to his words, that the person she will marry is a good man.

And _he's right_, she thinks some minutes later.

Alloces, second son of House Paxley, is a good man. He looks like Gusion, except for too tall frame, roundish face and not too sharp nose. His smile is crooked and a little mocking. His voice is deep and hoarse, she wants to offer him a glass of water when he speaks, but he is already holding one. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Guinevere of House Baroque."

He doesn't offer his hand to her, not like any gentleman that she ever met, but his eyes is soft and draws her to him. Captivates her.

It occurs to her, later that night, long after the Paxley are gone and she lays on her bed, that in the entire evening and through dinner, she never looks at Gusion again even for once.

* * *

.

* * *

She likes Alloces, Gusion's brother. He's not entirely humble, just arrogant enough with his skills that can back him up. If Guinevere doesn't have her own fair share of magic skill, she would be entranched by his magic alone and think that is why she likes him.

"You truly are a genius, Guinevere." His eyes are wide open, looking deep into the violet hue that dance on his open palm. She feels like it was her own soul that he saw.

Summer breeze blows through ornated windows, passes the flimsy curtain and caresses her hair, like a mother to her daughter.

She wonders if her mother would say that as well.

* * *

.

* * *

Lancelot is so full of himself. He's self-absorbed prick and he can't stand it if he's not the center of attention. He loves to brag, too proud. Sometimes she wonders if that's how people viewed her as well. _Just like her brother, _as they whispered behind her back, she can imagine their mouths curled in disapproval, words stiff and harsh with jealousy.

It's been a year, eight months, and nineteen days since he's gone. Yes, she's been counting.

She misses him. She misses his terrible poems and seeing him flirts with girls, his dramatic flair and ridiculous hair. She miss her own private guinea pig, the only one who doesn't mind – he really did mind if you asked him, but Guinevere is terrifiying when upset – when she practice her magic on him. More importantly, she misses him for who he really is. The rare side of him that tells her stories about female mages he met from his many journey across the country, while he made flower crown, and when pulls her blanket to cover her in the cold night, without his outer shell he paraded around.

He was gone when she is drowning.

* * *

.

* * *

There is an open public opera near the city hall. She sees some people building the make-shift stage, and more people watches them work, already interested by the story being told in loud voices and vibrant papers being handed to anyone who came. So persuasive, one of them is.

So when Alloces asks her to come together, she nods eagerly. But, he is so busy, he forgot the date and going places, making trades, and when the night is young, he never shows to pick her up. It's a little strange that she actually doesn't mind being stood up on her date, even when she really wants to see the performance.

Instead, Gusion is the one holding her hand, shoving people asides so they can get a better look at the stage. And later, after the longest hand claps to the actors from everybody around her, she stands near a closed bookstore, hands crosses on her chest, and waits for Gusion who for some reason craves some ice cream when it's near midnight, and she doesn't want to walk back all the way to the shop.

She turns around when she hears footsteps, assuming that is Gusion, but she meets a man with hungry look in his eyes instead.

"What a fine lady like you doing here alone in the middle of the night? Are you lost?" he leers and Guinevere looks at him in disgust. "I can either accompany you here through the night or I can escort you to my humble home. My Lady."

Guinevere opens her mouth to spat her words, but one of Gusion's knives is already on his throat, a drop of blood on the blade. "Is that how you treat a lady?"

The man looks scared shitless and keeps blubbering before he turns and runs like hell hounds are chasing him.

"No need to play hero, you know." Guinevere chides him, and Gusion knows that's true.

He looks down, where to scones of ice cream splattered on the ground. "Too bad. That's it, you're gonna come with me now." He sighs and reaches for her hand, the second time this night, pulling her towards the direction the opera stage, still crowded from people who wants to meet the actors, then turns left towards an ice cream shop near the stage, still open due to the free entertainment.

"Are you kidding me?"

At least the ice cream tastes really good. Almost as good as the opera before. Guinevere smiles and leans to Gusion's ice cream, scooping a big chunk into her mouth, not regretting the brain freeze that happens right after, then her smile turns to laugh.

She lets Gusion do the same after his indignant _Hey!_

* * *

.

* * *

"I like someone."

It comes out of her mouth one evening. A shiver run throughs her body as golden leaves falls down, then blown away by the wind. Her sweater doesn't match with her thin dress, she realizes.

"Pity." Alloces said after too long silence, when she wonders if she spoke too low or he just doesn't have anything to say, because there is nothing to be said. "At least let us pretend a little longer."

"Why?" She blames her non-filter brain to mouth system. She shouldn't even have to bring this conversation to begin with. The silence falls again. And Guinevere thinks that maybe, maybe all of her brother's accusation was true after all, she's too bold.

"I can't fault a girl who fall in love, can I?"

"And yet you want to play pretend."

His chuckles ease the guilt stuffing in her heart, a little. "Just want to show them I don't back down easily."

"Them? Nobody care."

"Everybody care, if you squint." He laughs, it's sound like a cough, but there is smile in his face, mirth in his eyes. It's infectious.

"You just don't want to lose, do you?"

Hands in his pockets, he shrugs. "Oh, I already lost." _Since the whole engagement thing started_, goes unsaid, but it is clear between them.

She smiles then, thinking of the one who makes her feel the butterflies in her stomach. She laughs, imagining he is the one standing here next to her.

Guinevere stares out at the darkening sky and wishes for rain.

* * *

.

* * *

Like _de javu, _it happened overnight.

A coming of age ceremony, family pride or higher knowledge, the unnecessary need to choose, and he left.

Guinevere wonders if she really doesn't matter to everyone she cares about, like Lancelot and Gusion, to state some. Her brother just gone. And Gusion – her friend? Best friend? Crush? She wants more – just left.

But, then a couple months later, there's a postcard for her.

It's the only postcard she's ever received in her life. It was sent from a place called Land of Dawn, with its grand Colosseum where heroes fights in a tournament.

_Hey Guin!_

_You would like this place. Wanna come?_

There is no name nor address of the sender, but one look at the cursive handwriting and she knows. She looks at the postcard for the longest time before she puts it in her safe and close it.

Furiously.

Carefully.

* * *

.

* * *

Balam Paxley's funeral is held today. She thinks, vainly, that Gusion might come home. Might be there. Either to get a last look at his father and pay some respect, or a last middle finger to his very dead face.

He isn't.

She doesn't ask if Alloces thinks Gusion will be back. She doesn't know if she can stand his answer.

* * *

.

* * *

The House of Paxley is different without him.

She comes every weekend, like always. She waits for Alloces in the garden, a cup of tea in hand, a half eaten lemon cake on the table, little ants marches closer. When he appears, they goes to the training field, where violet and golden hues clashes, battling each other. Laughing together. It feels so good, to be free for once, no holding back.

If only they could stops whispering, the maids, servants, the new Head of House Paxley, Aim the Third himself. She is bloody tired of their two faced plays that she swears not to bother coming back in the following week.

Then she comes, anyway.

* * *

.

* * *

She falls asleep in her brother's bed. She dreams of a young man, with his fleeting magic and shining blades. She wakes up and still missing them.

They won't come back, are they?

* * *

.

* * *

She finds Alloces reading, cross legged on one of his massive armchairs and engrossed in his book, fingers tapping softly at his kneecap. The sight of him – the misplaced innocence of it, the youthfulness that clashes with the experienced man she knows him to be – render her to feels guilty.

He gracefully gets to his feet the moment he spots her. "I guess it's a good bye, then?" he says, three steps ahead of her.

As if he's been waiting.

* * *

.

* * *

So she leaves.

* * *

.

* * *

She goes to the land where the sun shines most beautiful in dawn. Where there is a river dividing it in half, and lush forest surrounding it, protecting it. _Oh_, and a colosseum where heroes fights for glorious honor.

She goes and she finds him first. The Holy Blades, some calls in fear and jealousy. Some calls in desire.

One calls with softness in her voice, eyes so tender and bursting with _love._

"How do you know him?"

Over appletini and single malt scotch – she's truly legal now – they get to know each other, a little. Her name is Lesley, and she said that Gusion will come here any minute, now. It dawns on her, later, much later, when he comes and his hands brushes her bangs, that maybe they're more than _just an acquintance _like she claimed it to be.

"Guin?"

His voice is exactly as she remembers it to be. His brows furrows in confusion and full of surprise, and she wonders if he is the same person she knows before, who left her behind. But she knows it's not his fault.

"Hey, Gus," she touches the stray strands on her face, pulling them back behind her ear. "Long time no see."

They stares into each others and the tension around them is palpable.

"Why don't you two catch up? I'll take raincheck and go home, okay?" Guinevere almost forgets her presence, too busy looking at him and making sure this surreal moment isn't just a figment of her delusion. Gusion opens his mouth and looks about to say something but she's already turn her back and walks to stairs, making her leave.

"You look great." He says, instead, and takes a seat beside her on the barstool, ordering two drinks for them. "Same you did back then."

"Yeah?" Guinevere smiles. The bartender serves their drink, and after a quick thank you, she turns to Gusion. "So do you."

"Though this is quite a surprise. You, here in Land of Dawn, how?"

"What can I say? I've always been a rule breaker. You know that."

They smiles and he clinks his glass to her. "I do."

She looks around the bar, noticing the warm yellow lights from the corners, and downs her glass. "I picks up some clothes and left home. A couple of week and some free rides later, I am here."

"Right." He still looks at her, a slight frown on his face. "And … Alloces?"

"Still there. He's a good man, as you said it yourself." And she feels bad for even saying that.

And they talk and talk and talk, until the bar is as empty as many glasses in front of them.

* * *

.

* * *

There is a knock on her motel room and she curses as headache and nausea hits her hard upon waking up. She opens the door and almost regrets it, the sun definitely shines too bright this morning. Maybe that's why this place is called Land of Dawn.

"Can't you, like, come here in the afternoon?"

"And deprive you of this handsome face early in the day?"

She lets him in and grumpily close the door behind. "I see you haven't change a bit."

"How dare you." He gasps and clutches his chest, dramatically acting being hurt. Then he flairs his hands around, gesturing to his face and body. "Have you seen this?"

"Oh please, I want to puke looking at you."

"That's the hangover speaking." He pushes her to the open door of her bathroom. "Well, what are you waiting for? We have schedule to follow, places to go, people to meet, and your resident guide won't disappoint you. Chop, chop. I almost gag standing next to you."

"Ugh."

He sits on the only chair there, crosses his legs, and snatching a pamphlet from a bakery she passed yesterday. "I'll wait here."

"You perv."

* * *

.

* * *

He agrees to help her search for Lancelot.

That's why they've been spending time together more often, recently. Gusion never met Lancelot, but he comes to her home enough time to get a glimpse of his portrait.

There is a heavy feeling inside her heart when she sees Lesley sit alone in the bar, like she mourns as thought the moon is falling down, while Gusion walks toward her with a smile and says, "Let's ask around if some traveler ever met your brother."

And they steps into the night air and goes to the tavern from the outskirt of town, the popular one, the tourist and travelers' favorite. In the end, she can't help but be happy that she can spent the night with him.

She feels disgusted.

* * *

.

* * *

"Thank you." She says, after one more unsuccessful quest of looking for her brother, when he walks her back to the motel and she wants to ask him to come inside, offer him a glass of something, coffee maybe. But she doesn't do that.

"We're not done yet."

She wants to think it was their _almost _that he was talking about. The _almost _before he left, many years ago. "I know." She says instead.

His smile is small and incredulous.

* * *

.

* * *

They searches, they fails, they repeats, and slowly, her world is _crumbling._

He dances with her on the bar, under dim lights and over soft melody of a piano across the room. His hands are warm on her back, around her own. His gaze surrounds her and she thinks, _I love you, _until her heart is numb to the sensation.

One thing leads to another. It makes her grin, thinking about it.

It seems to make him grin too, until suddenly it doesn't.

So she runs.

* * *

.

* * *

She wants to go back to _before._ Before Lancelot disappeared, before she met Alloces, before Gusion left.

Before she came here and tore them apart.

She'd say she hates herself a little for being the reason but that would be a lie. She hates herself a lot for it.

* * *

.

* * *

She is drowning.

She has, perhaps, always been drowning. In misery, in love. It starts to feel similar to her, it's so suffocating she can't even breath. She wonders if she will ever resurface. Her mother certainly did not.

She wonders if she will always be drowning.


	2. Chapter 2: The Moon is Falling Down

Lesley vaguely remembers the last time she saw her father's smile.

It's not the smile that she dreams of every night, where he showed that he is proud of her. Nor it is the smile that he gave her when she cooks for him and it turned out okay.

It was the sad one, where he laid on his back, eyes pleaded, mouth moved but it never uttered a sound. _Hide and wait. Someone will save you._ He said in her mind, when she picked up his rifle from his bloodied hand.

She did not do that in the end, as she too, has sworn an oath under the House of Vance. She'd die if it meant Harley will live.

Tears and blood rolled down her cheeks as she fired shot after shot, each one taking down an assassin. She sobbed as the final bullet hit its mark, fallen down on her knees. Her father's unseeing eyes wide open, smile forever plastered on his face.

She waited.

* * *

"So, how was your day?" Lesley asked Harley and gets a shrug for an answer. Her attempt to win the silence is defeated before taking its very first step. "Come on, you surely have something to say."

Harley's gaze is unyielding, there is nothing to be said but his eyes then trails to the stairs leading to his father's office. Still refusing to speak, she nibble the last of her pizza slice. Where is the chattering prodigal mage and his laugh has gone to? Where have the words disappeared? Yet, it's not the words, it's the sound that is gone.

Swallowing the last bite of his early dinner, Harley retires to his room, not willing to invest in any other verbal exchange. Lesley decides to forcefully reshuffle the playing card, and so she mixes cards she does not own or even knows how to play with.

The door is locked.

End of story to describe the brother Lesley loves until her chest hurts.

Ever since the assassination of Henry of House Vence, Lesley becomes more attuned to whatever happened to Harley, or prevents it from happening. Where ever he goes, she always follows him from the shadow, just to give him as much privacy, if possible.

She sees the glints on his blade against her brother's neck and the first bullet hit him. One shot, then another one, and again, followed by a fourth. He jerks back, flinches a little, and lets Harley get away.

"What do you think you're doing?" Harley snaps, furiously glares at her instead of helping his friend – she learns, after explaining that they just have a spar, and a panicked healer trying to fix his wounds.

She gets asked to have a diner with him, as a form of apology, she agrees. She doesn't return his smile, though, because Harley looks more upset than before. She wonders why.

Deep down, she knows that he resented her for always following him.

* * *

She meets Gusion again after their impromptu diner, near an old sweets shop that Harley likes so much.

"Hello, there." He eyes her and she can not help but to feels like being judged, crouching on the ground, hands full of rocks, humming to herself. Definitely suspicious. He smirks. "What are you doing with all of these pebbles? Planning to throw them at some poor birds in the wood?

"Why would I do that?" she lets some rocks fall out of her hands, only two remains, and she puts them in a pouch.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe to practice your rock-throwing skill? Or maybe you just like to throws something up? God knows you like to shoot people too." He follows her when she starts to walk towards the city.

"Will you let that go? I already apologize."

"Yeah?" he quirks his eyebrows, as if to remember something that didn't happened.

"Besides, it was a one time thing."

"Really? You shot me four times, remember?" he holds up his hands, each with two fingers pointed up.

"You've healed." She grounds out, beginning to feel a little irritated. "Estes healed you."

"It's bloody four times, though."

"Please." She is so done with him.

"I still feel the pain, you know? In fact, my shoulder and thigh starts to throb, it starts to hurt." His hand shooting up and down his thigh. "I need to sit down. Preferably in that café."

She looks at him, then at the café he pointed down the road, and back at him again. His step turns to limp. "What pain? You don't even have a scar to proof it."

"Don't you know what phantom pain is? It is the after effect of some trauma –"

"Fine, fine. Will you shut up if we go there?" she frowns at him, and at the same time, she can't help but remembering all the silly jokes and childhood shenanigans he told her over diner. At least he amuses her, that evening.

"Come on in, then." And the limp disappears.

"Of course."

* * *

Harley walks in to the kitchen and approaches her, eyes steely cold but his hands fidgets with his cards. Lesley is about to offer him breakfast when she sees a big bag on the floor near the door, and she stops. "What's with the bag?"

There is no hesitation when he says, "I want to get out. Please don't follow me again."

"Get out? Where do you want to go? How long will you go?"

"I won't tell you. Don't follow me, okay?" his voice raises a little and Lesley doesn't understand why.

"I can't do that." She takes a deep breath and she feels her eyes starts to burn. "You've been different since … since last time. You didn't smile anymore, heck, you barely talked to me. I know it's hard, but I'm here for you."

"I know. I'm still leaving."

"Harley, please think this through. You can't just leave. Who's going to protect you out there?"

Harley laughs for the first time since the assassination and Lesley never wants to hear it ever again. "You don't understand, do you? That's just the thing. I don't want you to blindly protect me. I can do it myself."

The silence stretches and Lesley desperately wants to reach him.

"I'll miss you." She says in the end, chest hurt and she tastes blood.

"I miss my sister too."

Realization falls heavily on her. The silence. The abnormalcy of his character. The hollow looks he sends her way. He needs his sister more than his sworn protector. She lets him close the door behind his back, and she quickly shoves the remaining plate of sliced breads with red bean paste in it, just so she doesn't have to look at it and thinks that he didn't even have breakfast before he left.

She realizes, she loves him a lot more than loyalty demands.

* * *

The recent festival Lesley goes to, she goes with the cocky Gusion Paxley as her date. He claims he doesn't date despite asking her out the first time they met, she claims she doesn't do men like him despite agreeing to go to diner together again sometime next week. They are both wrong.

Lesley is sure she never laughed so much in her entire life as she does when Gusion sneaks behind Granger's back and steals one of his trophy that he won in the competitive shooting tournament that day. All because she had let it slip that the marksman in question had called her _bitch with the skill of a jumpy frog_ a few months ago.

"Nobody calls you things like that," he says and hands her the stolen trophy. He adds in a terrible accent, "Not on my watch."

They stroll around the street to buy overpriced ice cream from a vendor and he casually mentions that the stars never look better than her eyes when she laughs. She finds him odd and hilarious, rude and incredibly sweet, finds that the inconsistencies in him have a pull, a certain appeal that feels like a dark undercurrent in the water.

"Let's do this again sometime, eh?" he says when they part, surprising no one.

"Sure." She agrees, and it seems like she surprises herself as much as she surprises him.

His biggest smile is plastered to his face, and no matter how much she tries to look solemn, she just can't.

* * *

She falls in love with him over the chases around town for The Thief King and the Magic Cube. And she thinks that she wants to be in his, that he wants to be in hers. She doesn't say it.

She falls in love with him over daily routines and work, too, over stakeouts and takeouts and god-awful jokes that still tickles on the inside because he leans closer and smiles that electric smile and she thinks about kissing him, about spreading her hands over his chest and wrapping her fingers around the strands of his hair.

She fall in love with him easily. Happily.

They are on a mission to collect a bounty from the neighboring town. Light backpack strapped to their shoulders while their feet steps surely on the ascending hill. Almost out of breath, they stops when they reaches the top.

Behind the hill, from here downword, is a field full of wild flowers.

"Beautiful," Lesley says, now entirely breathless, amazement clear on her face. "Right?"

She turns to Gusion when he stays silent. And she wonders if he sees someone else when he gazes at the wild violet field.

* * *

Year passes, Gusion is a part of her life and her brother_ comes home._

"I can explain." Lesley said hurriedly, her cheeks feels hot and she hopes they doesn't notice. It is not how she picture the reunion with her brother to go. Clearly, not with him catching her off guard, sitting closely next to each other on a chilly evening.

"Well, I can't say that I don't feel any sexual tension between you two right now, but, ew," Harley takes a deep breath. His eyes travels to her, sitting rigidly beside the one man she shot the first time they met. Too close for his liking. "Gusion? Really, sis?"

"Whoah." Gusion stands up, "that's just rude. And, looks who come back and actually learn big words on his extended picnic, huh?"

"It's not a picnic." Harley insisted.

"Sure. Your bags said otherwise, though."

"What? That's just something I found along the way."

"Of course, the quest to the west –"

And they went along perfectly, well, as in bickering and arguing, and Lesley is glad the topic strayed away from her desperate longing for Gusion that never notice, even when Harley throws it to his face.

There is much to talk about, later when Gusion leaves and there is only two of them. Harley comes back and like the long lost pieces of her incomplete puzzle, he falls back in perfectly. No awkwardness, no resentment. No shadow and shell of the brother that left her with his silence. He comes back, as the brother Lelsey loves the most.

She walks to the kitchen and pulls three different mugs out of the cupboard.

* * *

"I would never have guessed that you eat pizza."

"Why wouldn't I? Besides, your little devil likes it, doesn't he? With –" Gusion makes a grimace, as if the mere recollection of it upsets him. "– pineapple. For some ghastly reason."

"He sure does." She smiles, helplessly. "I'm surprised that you remember."

"Charming, ain't I?"

And Harley loudly announces his entrance. "Behold peasants, for here I am, granting you with my grlorious presence."

"The ban of my existance." He sneers at her brother, but his eyes glints nonetheless, of joy if she dares to call it. Cheeky, the both of them.

Beside her – shoulder to shoulder and she can't pretend she doesn't notice that, the warmth of his body seeping into her own – Gusion reaches for a slice of pepperoni cheese. She wants to reach for him.

He glances sideways at her, his mouth already full. She shoots him a little smile before she reaches for a slice herself.

* * *

There's that soft smile she can't get enough and it drives her crazy. That smiles and the way he holds her, the way she has felt. _This is real, isn't it? _She has barely recognize the tone in his voice then, breathless and hopeful against her, every movement of his body lingers inside her bones.

_It is._

* * *

A young woman, with fiery vibrant hair and eyes full of childish hope, happen.

* * *

She leads Guinevere, she tells her name right outside the bar, and waits for Gusion. He comes, after some songs from the pianist across the floor, and brushes down her hair, and the intimacy shatters before she can utter a greeting. He sees her, and it feels like the world belongs to two people alone, only she is not a part of that world. So she swallows down her jealousy with the last drop from her glass. Her throat burns more than it should.

The awkwardness makes her shuffle her feet, neither of them notices. She calls raincheck for their date and suggests them to catch up. She leaves and her step is silent as always. Climbing up the stairs, she stops just before the door. She watches them down the bar, invisible among many patrons and dim light overhead.

She waits, he never calls out.

* * *

She wants to say something more, something else. She smells the single rose that Gusion bought for her and spots the girl from _before. _Guinevere descends from the arch of the stone bridge in front of them, all smiles and flowing hair and it's not fair to think about her with that sense of dread. It's not fair.

Lesley clears her throat, rose still in her hand. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Nah. We'll just search around east side, maybe walk through the district near Lake Swan. You know, just in case. I'll be back the day after tomorrow, you can tell me about all the exciting details on the Ravage Tournament over diner. I'll bring back a super smooth super rare pretty little stones on the way back. Just for you." Gusion says and smile. "Who else collect pebbles by the way?"

It's almost like she can believe them. A strange warmth in her chest, a lurching kind of hope that is so brittle it has thorns like the very rose she holds on her hands.

It's almost like _before_.

Lesley stares down the empty bench beside her long after he has left it.

* * *

They breaths the same air, under the same roof of stars, being warmed by fire burning happily in front of them. The grass is a little damp and it will leave dirt on her pants, but he likes to sit on it. So she does.

She just hates how it ended. She never thought there would be an end.

* * *

That night, a thunderstorm rolls in. It moves over the city like an omen. Nothing is right lately, least of all tonight.

"I want to explain." Gusion says when he stops by.

He should. Oh, he should. He has so many things to explain and she's exhausted from dealing with them. Worn down by the way he spins, a flurry of impulses and emotions and thoughts and every time she thinks she's figured it out, he disappears or changes direction like a man of storm. She's given him trust, faith, the benefit of the doubt.

"I don't want explanations," she says therefore, and her voice is hard, harder than she intends. Harder than it has ever been when directed towards him because he melts something in her, hits her where she's soft. "I've never wanted … all this time, I've only ever wanted you to –"

Gusion frowns and steps back to look at her. "To what?"

"Never mind." She said in finality, heart burns with rage and waits for him to say something, to run away. "I wanted for you to care. About me. The way I … like I care about you."

"I don't …" he breathed out.

"I mean, what the hell, Gusion? I lo –" the air in her lungs feels like poison and it chokes her. "I love you."

Their eyes locks, like so many times before, when she wants him, when she hopes that he feel something for her, when she knows that he love her.

Gusion stays silent, and she wonders if he wants to leave, when he will leave.

* * *

She is waiting.

She has, perhaps, always been waiting. To be saved, to be loved. It starts to feel similar to her, her heart feels so empty she can't even breath. She wonders if she will ever be saved. Her father certainly did not.

She wonders if she will always be waiting.


	3. Chapter 3: Man of Storm

Gusion remembers that day upon the hill.

One of his brothers, Gremory had called him a wuss just seconds ago, when he showed his scrapped knee, blood slowly oozed. Too excited to pay attention where he should have step as he climbed on the hill. He didn't cry, though.

"First to the bridge." Sallos screamed on top of her lungs right by his side, barely thirty seconds after he caught up to them. He jerked, ear rang, momentarily forgot about the sting on his knee.

They dashed, the five of them, from upon the hill. Alloces and Sallos hurried forward, Gremory in tow, fallen behind. And then Berith, cheated although the only one who could compete with him was Alloces on a good day, or Aim if he had participate.

Gusion staggered after his brothers and sister, little feet swung faster and faster, bloodied knee entirely forgotten. Wind rushed on his face, hair dissaray, his breath was short. His cheeks hurt as he couldn't stop smiling. And then, he stumbled.

He fell.

* * *

.

* * *

He meets a strange girl once, then she becomes his rival, and he thinks of her as friend, or more, later.

She insults everything around her. She's blunt and self-centered, full of herself, annoying, and he can't wait to see her across the river tomorrow. He grins and shakes his head just thinking about it.

* * *

.

* * *

Berith is his favorite brother, not because he is the one closest to Gusion, but because he is so ridiculous. He likes to play with fire, figuratively and literally, to the point where he sets his hair ablaze one day, just so he could looks like the fire version of a famous mage, who he can't remember what his name was, but Gusion is so sure that his skin was colored in blue and purple. And of course, Gusion always gets away with pranking him, or just bickering with him on daily basis, Berith is the only fun member of his uptight family.

So he comes to Berith when he need some pointer with his magical study. Learning with him is always bound to be fun and interesting. He is met with a scowl on Berith's face, though, when he comes out of the side training room. "What do you want?"

It is the first time he hears that flat tone in his brother's voice. He wonders if Berith finally snapped. He's too shock that he doesn't even answer his brother's question and remains standing there long after Berith is gone. His own question left unsaid.

Alloces comes out of the same door and finds him there, some minutes later. His voice no less flat than usual. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you two have a fight?"

And that was the first time Alloces makes time to help him with his study, even if it's because he doesn't want to answer his question, Gusion guesses. It turns into a routine, Gusion realizes, after the fifth time Alloces teaches him how to molds his energy and channel it outword.

Maybe Alloces is not that bad. _He's still boring, though._

* * *

.

* * *

"Lady Guinevere, it's time."

"I'll accompany her." Without even looking, Gusion waves his hand, dismissing the servant who called for her.

"At least you will be engaged to Alloces. He's pretty ugly, and boring, but at least he's a good man." It easily comes out of his mouth. He smiles.

"That's oxymoron, you idiot." She said after what felt like eons to him.

His pants feels a little damp, but that's okay, he likes to sit on the grass. She drags her feet along the way, to prolong the walk, to delay the meeting, she tries hide it. He knows, because he too, wants to do so. It felt too short, too quick, and next, the carved door is looming over them.

Behind that door-

Guinevere smiles.

She smiles when Alloces introduces himself, quite rudely if you asks him. He thinks, that maybe, maybe she won't even smile. Maybe she won't give him a chance. Maybe she would look for him, instead. And it comes to a realization that Guinevere is his brother's fiancee now, not just some strange girl he met near the river a long time ago. An invisible hand clenches his heart.

Strangely, it makes him feel emptier than ever.

* * *

.

* * *

"Our brothers are out of control."

Gusion is nearly blinded by the golden hues of Alloces' burning magic. It was so different from his own.

"All of them?"

"Very funny."

"No, I'm genuinely wondering." Gusion picks up his blades from the ground. One of them is buried in half, dirt stains the smooth surface. "I never see Berith, for example, what is he up to these days?"

Alloces is not really fond of daily conversation about family members, moreover during sparring and regarding his once favorite brother. Some said that he doesn't even care about them. Gusion knows better, now, as he is the only Paxley that spare no mind to him and even gives him pointers when Gusion tries to infuse his blades with magic. Maybe that's why their father – holier than thou, magic is absolute and pure – makes Alloces engaged with Guinevere of the house that prides themselves in swordmanship. Talk about irony.

"You haven't answered my question about Berith." He didn't even elaborate about which brothers that is currently out of control. He just leaves.

* * *

_._

* * *

_It's a lovely laugh_, he thinks, over midnight ice cream and busy opera crews closing their stage in the city.

He falls as desperately in love with her as he once fell down the hill.

* * *

.

* * *

Alloces comes home and storms into his room, already demanding answer before Gusion even gets up from his bed.

"Oh, I should be the one who get angry with you." He sits up, his bare feet lands on the cold floor. "Leaving her without any message, when you're the one who asked her in the first place. You hurt her."

"So what if I unintentionally hurt her?" he slams his hands on the wall. "Who care?"

"I do. I care."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn't have a choice, does she?" Gusion stands abruptly, hands in the air. Thinking about the engagement. "Neither do I."

"That's an excuse. You think you're always right."

"What –"

Alloces squares his shoulders and steps closer. "Do you ever ask her about how she feel? Tell her how you feel? You see, you're just like father. You're taking her choices away, just like he did to me."

Gusion chuckles, his face dark, "Right. Because everything is always about you, isn't it? I thought you were a good man. But apparently, I'm not always right."

He knows. He's also lying to himself.

* * *

.

* * *

He watches them dance, first in the training field, and later in the great ballroom of the city major's mansion. He watches them laugh and it hurts, yet he can't look away. He wonders if he ever makes Guinevere laugh like that.

He forces himself to think about other things. The first time he walked into Minoan Maze. The scent of freshly cut grass. Shady tavern across the corner with its supposedly heavenly boozes that he wants to sneak in to. Crepes and ice creams. His new scarf. Lantern festival next week. The effing coming of age ceremony. It doesn't help.

He doesn't stop falling.

* * *

.

* * *

"Oh, but you do," he says, voice low and angry. In the end, Gusion is reminded that his family is all alike, saves for Berith but he doesn't hear a word about his where about, nowadays. "You want me to give up my blades, don't you? Do you feel threatened now that I've become stronger?"

"No. it doesn't matter what I think, Gus-"

He throws a punch at him, blue hues around him, fist clenching and _it feels good._

"Doesn't it?" his eyes is cold, gaze fixed on Alloces."Then what matters? Father's every word? Fair enough. I have never once defy his rules. Never. I don't even say anything when you gets the very first thing that I want."

"Oh, that's on me now? I gave you choice, all you need to do is man up and tell her how you feel. And you bloody damn well ignore it. Coward." His word is more poisonous then ever.

"It doesn't matter anymore. You may took her away from me, but not this. No, you would never take it away from me."

"Gusion-"

"I don't want to see you ever again."

His brother actually do stay away from him. He doesn't even come when the bloody trial took place. And he doesn't even come when Gusion triumphantly declares that he choose to pursue a whole new level of magical ability and leaving his own family behind.

Leaving her behind.

* * *

.

* * *

Months passes and he doesn't forget.

He sends a card to her – the one he wrote months ago and he swears to never send it – when it's almost midnight and his mind is so fuzzy and the ground never stops moving and he spends one whole hour to slip it through the small opening of the red postal box around the corner. He feels so bad, that he only write three sentences there, if it could be called that. He never manages to write an apology. He's not good at that, anyway.

* * *

.

* * *

He meets another girl then, he thought she is an enemy at first, then she becomes his partner, and friend, and he thinks he could spend his life by her side forever, much, much later.

She's such a goody-two-shoes, always play by the book, and totally normal that the only odd thing about her is her obsession with little rocks, it's borderline boring. She accidentally shoots him the first time they met, _it's bloody four times, _and he can't wait to meet her at the tavern for diner tomorrow night. He grins and shakes his head just thinking about it.

* * *

.

* * *

The rattles of her rifle fire are short and static. Increment bursts that waste no ammo. Controlled. Exact.

Another soldier slumps to the floor when her sniper rifle cracks through the air. He runs. Her bullets rain over the enemy as he skids behind a cover of rock. Gusion slides in beside her, panting. They turn to each other, a glance is passed and they moves in unison.

The sliver light of her firing weapon in the dank warehouse is only surpassed by the blue tinge of his magic blades.

And that is only surpassed by the glint of her smile.

* * *

.

* * *

Sometimes he still thinks of violet hues and already sent postcard. He wonders what she is up to nowadays.

He shuffles the thoughts, quells the emotions, double the distractions.

* * *

.

* * *

It is small details at first. Like two cup of coffee in his hands just so he can have one for himself, or fingers smoothing his scarf and sometimes messing it up, or just being there with him and enduring his dry jokes. Then things gets more complicated after that, he notices. He thinks about the smell of gun powder and her suit in his wardrobe and his tongue inside her mouth.

He falls in love, a cruel, strange concept that sits tight and close in his chest, leaving no room for anything. He relents. He relents, momentarily then, permanently later.

* * *

.

* * *

And then she crashes into his life.

* * *

.

* * *

He steps inside the bar and down the stairs, expecting Lesley waiting for him with a drink in her hand. When he approaches his date for tonight, he meets _her, _instead.

He doesn't know what to make of her now.

He sees her, still beautiful, still infuriatingly like how he remembers her to be. They talked last night, like the old time, they bantered, they avoided the whole other can of worms that should be the reason she hated him. Instead, he knocks on her door, impatiently, early in the morning, and takes a deep breath. The door opens before he shouts her name.

They spends the day exactly like _before._

* * *

.

* * *

Another dead end and they're back at the bar.

They drinks. Then dances. Eventually she is in his mouth, and he chokes at the wrongness, at the taste, at this thing like depravity. Then she looks away as she leaves. Her steps are quick as thought fire burns under her feet.

Gusion drinks. It burns. Everything spins.

* * *

.

* * *

He remembers – clearly – how he used to likes her. To loves her.

They stands, in front of each other, his voice is gentler than he knows it to be. And he says good bye to the girl he used to love.

* * *

.

* * *

That night, a thunderstorm rolls in.

Gusion runs, his step is loud, he thinks it rivals the one in the sky above. Lesley doesn't open the door for him, they has passed that boundaries long time ago. So he lets himself in, like the many times he ever does to her, barging in her life without much preamble.

"I want to explain." He is out of breath and he doesn't dare to take one before he sees her.

"I don't want explanation. I've never wanted," she drawls out, "All this time, I've only ever wanted you to –"

She stops and he doesn't know what she wants to say, what he shall say, even when he is the one who wants to explain things. He dares to ask. "To what?"

"Never mind."

She's angry, she's snarling and, finally for once, _he gets it_. He stands, remains there, and look at her, waiting long enough for her to gather her thoughts and actions instead of turning away. "I wanted for you to care. About me. The way I … like I care about you."

"I don't …."

"I mean, what the hell, Gusion? I lo –" she takes a deep breath. "I love you."

Gusion looks at her for a long time and she looks like she wonders when he will leave.

He doesn't. He's done with running away.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, "I'm sorry."

When they finally kiss, it's gentler than the night is ought to be. And yet, there is nothing brittle about it. _Certain, _this time.

* * *

.

* * *

He is falling.

He has, perhaps, always been falling. Down the hill, in love. It starts to feel similar to him, like the wind is blowing on his face, like the grass is ripping his flesh, and the world is rolling around him. The rush of blood is the only thing he hears and he can't breath.

He wonders if he will always be falling.

He tilts his head and looks down at her face, then. He places a hand on her cheek, touches under the hollow of her eye, the soft shape of her chin, the lush of her lips.

_And he dares to hope_.


End file.
